


Before You Go

by itsalwaysyou_jw



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War II, Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Nice Victor Trevor, One Shot, POV Sherlock Holmes, Praise Kink, Sex, Smut, True Love, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 12:43:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17662877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsalwaysyou_jw/pseuds/itsalwaysyou_jw
Summary: Sherlock and Victor have one last night of sensational passion together before Victor is shipped off to fight in the war.





	Before You Go

**Author's Note:**

> This is set in the alternate universe already established in my other work, [Welcome Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17444141). However, **you do NOT need to read it to enjoy or understand this piece.** This is simply shameless Viclock smut.
> 
> All you need to know is that the year is 1940 (making them both 20 years old), Victor and Sherlock are married (secretly, of course), and Victor is being sent off to fight in World War II in less than 12 hours.

The beauty of a thousand stars scattered across a sky, hazy with the visible milky way, the moon startlingly huge amongst flecks of fire could not compare with the beauty before him now.

Victor stood against the high table, arms supporting his weight as he leaned over the paper, his eyebrows furrowed with concentration. The steam of his freshly brewed herbal tea billowed in ambiguous shapes, wafting upward before disappearing into nothing.

“Victor,” he whispered, afraid of what may become of him if he spoke his thoughts loudly enough for the universe to hear.

Victor rose his head, turning to look at Sherlock while he continued leaning over. “Yes, darling?”

The lump in his throat was stubborn, refusing to move to allow breath or words. He swallowed against it, hoping to loosen it to allow for speech.

“I don't want you to go.” The truth of it was profound, though it sounded hollow. “I am… scared.”

Victor's sharp green eyes were alight with sympathy, illuminated with understanding. He straightened himself and crossed slowly to where Sherlock stood petrified.

“Listen,” he cooed, voice a song on the air. “You can't worry like this.” He pressed his lips against his forehead, his warmth rushing through him. “I promise you, I'm going to be okay.”

He could do nothing but stare and stare and stare until Victor was the only thought he would ever have. His forest green eyes, his messy copper hair, his full, soft lips. The way his eyes softened when he looked upon Sherlock, the way he had to lean down to kiss him, the way his smile touched every part of his face to illuminate the world.

“This can't be happening,” he whispered into the minuscule space between them. “You can't be going.”

Victor heaved a sigh and tilted Sherlock's face upward, wiping one thumb along the length of his jawline. “Sherlock,” he said firmly, though kindly. “You know I need-”

“No, but that's the thing,” he choked. “You don't. I can talk to Mycroft. He can ensure-”

Victor pressed his lips, soft and kind and intent onto his. Sherlock's protests were lost, replaced by blissful desperation. Their heat mingled, Victor's breath entwining with his own in this sweet, slow embrace. Sherlock melted into the kiss, repressing a whimper when Victor stepped closer to Sherlock and wrapped one arm around his waist and left his other hand on his face.

The tenderness of it broke his heart. Victor's mouth was slow, warm, familiar, and he would have stayed exactly like this for the rest of his life.

Except they couldn't. Victor was leaving in a matter of hours and they may never be like this again.

The realization sparked a flame of panic in him, igniting the desire to experience all of him. He leaned in closer, his tongue flicking to request access and nearly gasped when Victor, knowing Sherlock as well as somebody could know a person, wrapped his arm more tightly around his waist. Their bodies were conforming to the pressures of the other and Victor pressed forward, Sherlock taking the slightest dip as his husband pushed against his lips with a ferocious pressure.

It was in that moment that Sherlock realized Victor was just as terrified as he was. And, somehow, it made the situation better.

All that was promised was here, now, this moment.

He drank it in: his firey lips, his roving tongue, his hand moving in slow circles down his face, his neck, his collarbone, and toying with the hem of his cotton shirt.

Sherlock broke away from the perfect mouth and trailed expert, longing kisses across his cheek, making his way to the spot he knew would earn a delightful groan. He traced hints of his lips along Victor's ear, teasing until he bit gently on the lobe, trailing his tongue and lips along the patch of neck directly under his ear. Victor dropped his head to the opposite side and groaned with a spectacular ecstasy.

Sherlock continued the game, dancing along the length of his neck with precise, planned motion and revelling in how Victor grew more dishevelled with every kiss.

Sherlock's hands wandered Victor's back, shoulder blades, waist, neck, and everywhere he could rub while maintaining his mouth’s adventures on his neck. Only when his hands fell to grip Victor's arse tightly did Victor gasp, his head snapping up and forlornly seeking Sherlock's lips once more. Without warning, he wrapped his hands around Sherlock's thighs and swept him up, supporting his legs and carrying him with steady strength across their sitting room. Sherlock greedily wrapped his legs around Victor's hips, rejoicing in the sensation of this complete relinquishment of power.

Victor continued walking, eyes closed and lips on his as his body moved with pure muscle memory around their furniture until he rammed Sherlock against the wall. He released a small gasp, eyes fluttering momentarily open.

With the support of the wall, Victor was able to remove one hand from his legs and place one just beside Sherlock's head on the wall. Sherlock wrapped his hands around the fabric on the front of his husband's shirt, using his grip to pull Victor impossibly closer. His legs were latched around his hips and knowing that Victor could tell how much Sherlock wanted him was driving him wild.

There was nothing, nothing, nothing from the heights of heaven to the depths of hell that he wanted more than Victor, with him, on him, filling every nook of his soul.

His legs clenched tighter, his head pushing forward with bruising intensity until Victor wrapped his hands around Sherlock’s hair and pulled back. He gasped, Victor's tenderness fading and morphing to match the desperate need that burned within Sherlock. His eyes fluttered, relishing the sharp pull on the back of his head while Victor trailed kisses down his cheek, his jaw, his neck, along his collarbone. It was disillusioning, this knowledge that Victor was all that existed in this vast universe.

Victor's shirt in his tight grip was too big a barrier, a prevention of reaching what lay beneath. When his warm lips bit eagerly at a barely exposed clavicle, Sherlock pulled the fabric apart, buttons snapping in various directions to reveal his broad, freckled chest. His fingers ran along the exposed skin hungrily.

“Oh,” Victor gasped, caught wholly by surprise, his lips leaving the skin of Sherlock’s collarbone momentarily. Sherlock took advantage of his surprise, pulling his head free of the grip on his hair and leaning forward uncomfortably just to be able to place urgent kisses down his chest.

Victor shifted momentarily, bouncing Sherlock up slightly where he'd begun to slip against the wall. Once adjusted, he thrust his hips forward harder to keep Sherlock in place. His hands working to pull Sherlock's own shirt over his head.

The light of the candle flickered to expose their love which was truer than any law could prevent.

Sherlock finished the job, ripping off Victor's shirt completely, the Royal blue cloth falling silently onto the rug below. Their mouths connected with renewed vigour, temporarily done with the journeys to explore other portions of their bodies. Their tongues slipped over one another, their breath thick, hot, and fast because no amount of each other would ever be enough. The skin to skin contact of their chests elevated everything, his arms pulling around his back to pull them closer, closer, while Victor curled his fingers around locks of black, silky hair once again.

In the dim light, he snuck peaks of him, face positively flushed with arousal and the sight was all the more arousing.

Finally, Sherlock slipped his slightly sore thighs down from Victor's hips, allowing them to fall to the floor while Victor understood and stepped back a bit to allow Sherlock room to stand.

Refusing to pull away, Sherlock fumbled blindly with the trousers that were snug around Victor's lovely hips, so narrow yet strong to contrast his broad, powerful shoulders. Expert fingers led by muscle memory allowed him to remove the trouser with relative ease, followed shortly by his pants. Victor stepped out of the clothing hastily and his glorious bare form was before Sherlock with all the glory to be found in a choir of angels.

That's what he was. Sherlock's own, personal angel.

Victor was never one to allow an uneven footing, working effortlessly at Sherlock's own bottoms, his eyes hungry when they collapsed to the floor and the full length of Sherlock's arousal was clear.

They embraced again, every portion of their bodies touching as they stumbled through their sitting room, Sherlock pushing him hastily against the opposite wall, pleased by the gust of air Victor released when his back was sufficiently shoved against the wall.

Sherlock made his way down his throat once again, licking, biting, and kissing a trail of passion along every centimetre of skin along the way. This time, with no cloth preventing further exploration, he found his way along pronounced pectorals until his tongue licked greedily at a rapidly hardening nipple. In return, Victor tensed, breath sucking in between tight teeth. When Sherlock bit down, Victor’s breath escaped to the tune of his name and it thrilled him, propelled him.

Greedily, he gave Victor’s other nipple the same treatment and it earned him Victor’s strong hand running through his hair. When Victor was positively panting with the stimulation, Sherlock continued down his body, falling slowly to his knees while his fingers slipped around the hardened nipples, flying unpredictably from circles to pinches to rolls and all the motions his fingers could make upon them.

Still, his mouth continued its dance downward, tongue flicking out occasionally to provide goosebumps along a trail where Sherlock journeyed. Finally, his knees meeting the floor beneath him, his hands fell to play with patches of skin along his lower back, his perfect arse, his muscular legs. He dropped dainty kisses in swirling patterns along his pelvis, his upper-thighs, and the thick patch of hair that lead from beneath his belly button- everywhere save his full, dripping erection. Between each kiss, he released the softest of sounds, the word repeated over and over and over: “Victor, Victor, Victor…”

“Yes, darling?” he asked, head against the wall and cheeks flushed scarlet.

Sherlock stared up at him, his overwhelming body towering over him. Victor looked perfect like this: back against a wall, one hand extended to reach Sherlock’s head, eyes closed because of how much his excitement was building inside him, and bulging prick begging to be inside Sherlock in any manner possible.

“Before you go, I want you to fuck me so hard, for so long, I forget that you’re leaving.” As he spoke, he tilted to the side and let the air of the words tickle the base of him.

“I would like nothing more,” he said with a mischievous growl that set Sherlock’s nerves on fire with longing.

He turned the hand that was lazily in his hair into a fist that pulled only slightly on his head and he knew exactly what to do. With partial guidance from the hand in his hair, he dragged his tongue along the length of Victor’s cock, savouring the taste of him. He took his time, circling the head with the lightest of pressure, licking up his precum and causing Victor’s legs to shake beneath him, small whimpers of desperation escaping him. He relished it, wanted to make the teasing last forever.

Yet he wanted Victor more.

Wasting no more time, he wrapped his mouth around Victor and began to move forward, the rest of Victor falling dangerously limp with the satisfaction of finally feeling Sherlock’s mouth around him.

He moved himself forward slowly, tongue playing patterns along the way, until he couldn’t go any further, his own cock thrumming with anticipation when he saw how much of Victor’s cock there was that he couldn’t take in his mouth. Victor’s cock was as huge as the rest of him.

Sherlock continued to take Victor’s prick in his mouth with increasing speed and complexity, ensuring his quickly unravelling husband would be kept on his toes. When he fell into a steady rhythm, he slipped his right hand along the base of his cock where he wasn’t able to reach with his mouth. He pumped enthusiastically with his hand in coordination with his mouth, stimulating every potion of his cock in even measure. He was sucking, licking, pumping, and hungrily taking him as Victor’s moans grew more and more incoherent.

“Sher- Oh God- Yes- Sherlock- _YES_ ,” he was panting, breathless, words barely formed. His fingers loosened as he lost control, his other hand flying to the back of Sherlock’s head as well to lead Sherlock’s head forward, though he needed no encouragement.

Sherlock’s own cock was throbbing with how hot he felt being able to make Victor feel like this. He loved the hands on the back of his head, urging him to keep going. He loved Victor towering over him. He loved Victor inside of him, loved servicing him. It turned him on to the point of insanity.

“Stop, stop,” Victor called suddenly, his eyes wide to expose enormous pupils, irises nearly overcome. Sherlock stopped, a trail of saliva following him as he removed his mouth from Victor’s dick, and gave him a quizzical look.

“What’s-”

“Too good,” he said with short breath. He was still breathing heavily, his hands holding Sherlock away from him. “Come here, darling.”

Sherlock obliged, rising shakily and succumbing into further kisses, their naked bodies entwined and cocks rubbing together slightly as they moved as one. After far too few kisses, Victor broke away and said, “Bedroom.”

Wordlessly, Sherlock scrambled to their bedroom, knowing not to expect following footsteps behind him. No, Victor needed a moment to compose himself and retrieve their Vaseline from their hiding location, both wary to leave it anywhere too obvious in case unexpected visitors caught sight and grew suspicious.

So Sherlock trotted to their bedroom, dick aching with longing. He examined the dark room, quickly lit the candle beside their bed to set the mood a bit, and walked over to the base of their bed.

Their bed frame was gorgeous and grandiose, the large headboard made of mahogany to lend the entire bed a regal stature. It was precisely their style, tall and elegant. To accompany such a brilliant headboard, the baseboard protruded roughly thirty centimetres above their mattress. It was exactly where Victor wanted him.

Standing before the baseboard, he felt the cool wood on his fingers to prepare for the feeling before leaning over it and resting his elbows on the mattress. The bed frame and baseboard were high enough that leaning over like this required him to be on the tips of his toes, the result being his arse high in the air. His hips were jutted upward, his arse cheeks brilliantly spread for Victor’s convenience and enjoyment. He waited patiently there, his cock twitching against the cold wood and precum dripping to the floor beneath him.

Victor’s footsteps announced his entrance, Sherlock trying with immense difficulty to stare straight ahead, to allow Victor to take in the sight of him. The footsteps slowed as he approached, a low groan of desire escaping as he drew nearer.

“You look so beautiful like this,” he said, hand drawing patterns along the curve of his arse.

“Thank you,” Sherlock responded, unable to help himself from turning to look at him now, eyes glazed over with lust as they raked his body.

Victor’s strong hands continued to stoke Sherlock, changing from tender to loving to eager. His skin was tingling where his touch left him on fire. He felt Victor kneel down, felt his breath near him, felt his hands grip his arse tightly and spread his cheeks apart.

“Perfection,” he heard Victor mutter and felt pure delight ring through his body. Victor’s praise always left him filthy with glee.

His hands retracted for a moment, a familiar sound telling Sherlock that he was gathering lube. His toes wiggled with thrilling anticipation.

First, Victor placed one, dry hand on one of his arse cheeks, squeezing it tightly before a thrilling chill on his anus earned an excited moan. Victor spread a great deal of the cool, thick substance around his entrance before removing his finger once more to retrieve more lube. His finger returned to clear eagerness.

“Ready?” he asked, finger poised at his opening.

“Yes. _Please_ ,” he begged.

Victor obliged, his finger pressing through him with slow purpose. Sherlock groaned, already feeling an immense relief of tension even while the slight sting of his fingers sharpened his awareness.

He moved slowly, working with twists and retreats and further pushes and Sherlock felt himself relax around the finger until Victor’s knuckles were at his puckering hole and Victor added a second lubed finger into him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he moaned, mind-driven wild as Victor progressed again, slowly, gently.

Victor was in him. Victor was filling him. Victor was all he-

An electric charge of pleasure rocked through his entire body then as Victor curled his fingers downward and stroked Sherlock’s prostate with tenured precision. A too-loud moan rang through their room and Sherlock bit down on his lip. As the sensation subsided, Sherlock could perfectly imagine Victor’s pleased smirk as he continued pumping.

When he loosened enough around his two fingers, Victor inserted a third and there was nothing more that Sherlock desired more in this world than for Victor to hurry up and fuck him.

But these things took time and he knew that. So he focused on enjoying the sensation, thrilling in Victor’s unpredictable pattern. Sherlock called out his enjoyment until he was mute to it, his body overriding his rational thought.

His cock was aching so badly and every time Victor brushed his prostate again, he was certain he would come on the spot.

“Victor,” he whined, wanting- _needing_ it, “Please. Please.”

“Please what?” asked Victor with mock stupidity. He always did this and Sherlock never found it funny until after they were done.

“Fuck me!” he called, dropping his head into the blanket to muffle the impatient noises coming out of him. “Please.”

Three fingers removed themselves from Sherlock’s gaping entrance, there was the sound of more lube being applied, and then Sherlock miraculously felt it.

Victor’s prick pressing gloriously against his arsehole, the hole still not completely ready to accept his full length. Instead, he pushed forward slowly- infuriatingly slowly. The sting was numbed to nothing as he took Victor in and his mind went blank. There was nothing but this, being filled completely by the love of his life.

When he was fully inside Sherlock, they both released breaths they hadn’t known they were holding. Victor made his way back, still slowly but indeed faster than before. He got faster and faster until it was no longer preparation. Instead, it was right and proper fucking.

Sherlock’s moans were whimpers, shapeless words, pitch changing to match the level of gratification that was rocking his body. Victor, in contrast, released slow, low moans that were mostly vowels. Together they were a harmony of breath and want.

Every time Victor pumped downward into him, his cock brushed his prostate and the repetitive motion made him delusional and his cock downright painful with its want of release.

“Victor,” he gasped, “I’m going to come. Don’t stop!”

“I won’t,” he promised and Sherlock knew he knew. Knowingly, Victor wrapped one hand around Sherlock’s hair once more, pulling back sharply and it happened as his head jerked back.

“Oh, oh, _OH!_ ” cried Sherlock as his entire body filled with a release of warmth and dizzying delectation. It rocked through him, waves of ecstasy hitting him as he came. And still, Victor, who knew him so well, continued to fuck him into the bed while waves of hot release overwhelmed Sherlock. He continued to pull Sherlock’s hair, fucking him with no abandon.

This is what turned Sherlock on more than anything: having Victor fuck him aggressively through his orgasm. Victor could never orgasm and continue fucking. Sherlock, however, lived for being fucked from one orgasm to the next.

So as Sherlock’s body jerked with its intense orgasm, he simply screamed his delight, feeling hot cum leak from him as Victor’s cock continued, thrusting in and out of him, fast and unrelenting, each thrust driving Sherlock further into the bed while his head was held back.

When the world came back into focus and Sherlock was nearly spent, Victor was still pumping into him, his hand removing itself from his hair and gripping his arse-cheeks tightly and massaging them. He continued and he, himself was clearly close to coming as well.

“Vic,” he groaned, mind rebelling against thinking actual words. “Do you need a break?’

His motions slowed but didn’t hesitate. “No,” he said, words thick with passion. “No, I want you so badly.”

With a smirk, Sherlock thrust his hips unexpectedly back, taking Victor by surprise and resulting in a particularly deep penetration. Victor gasped with shock and pulled out, his entire face screwing up in an effort to control his orgasm. Sherlock twisted his head to provide a sly smile to his husband who let out a hungry growl.

“You’re too good,” he said, body relaxing slightly with the orgasm at bay.

Sherlock rose then, backside sore with the motion. Victor took one surprised step backwards and Sherlock turned to face him. Their faces were flushed, their hair messy.

He was beautiful.

He placed his hands on Victor’s chest and pushed a caught off guard Victor to take a seat on the bed. He flopped on, spreading his legs instinctually and Sherlock could have giggled with the gleeful satisfaction of putting him in position. Victor knew what he wanted, he knew what Victor wanted.

Sherlock turned around slowly, his back facing him as he situated himself between Victor’s open legs. He lowered himself with an infuriating speed, slowly holding Victor’s prick while he lowered himself onto it, the both of them shaking with expectancy.

Sherlock was, impossibly, hard again. He’d teased himself into a frenzy, his own cock growing harder as Victor slowly pressed once again at his entrance and filled him centimetre by centimetre. By the time his arse was flushed against Victor’s hips, his cock was already throbbing with desire.

Behind him, Victor was rumbling with his moan. Sherlock took one quick look, and his breath caught in his throat from the beauty of him. He was leaning back on his elbows, his head thrown back, jawline pronounced. His chest was heaving with heavy, uneven breath.

Sherlock turned back around, mind swirling with images of the most beautiful he’d ever seen him. He began to ride him in earnest, eyes closing as he saw Victor, eyes sparkling as he looked across a pond in a meadow. Victor, staring out a train window as the outside sun cast gorgeous illumination on his angular face. Victor, wearing a dapper suit and beaming at him while Mycroft officiated their wedding.

He was soon consumed with him- his cock burrowing deep in him, images swirling in his mind, his moans mingling with the air he breathed and resounding around him. It was all Victor, it was all love, it was all unadulterated happiness.

Sherlock was barely aware of the own sounds he was making as he grew nearer, once again, to his climax with every rise and fall.

Victor must have sensed it- or perhaps he heard how quick and messy his moans had become- because he sat up suddenly, his chest tickling the nerves on Sherlock’s back. One arm wrapped around Sherlock’s torso, a tender dance that longed to memorize every dip and curve of his body. His other arm wrapped around Sherlock’s hips and his hand circled around Sherlock’s bulging cock.

He released a tension he hadn’t known he was holding, feeling as though he could purely melt in his hands. He hadn't realized how badly he’d wanted Victor’s hand on his prick.

Yet now he was stroking him and it was heaven. Sherlock's mind was swirling with half-thoughts: Victor’s hand caressing his chest, Victor’s cock buried deep in him, fucking him senseless, his other hand pumping steadily and thrilling him with too much stimulus. Each time he rose from his cock, his cock was thrust through Victor’s tightened hand, each time he lowered himself, he was ramming himself on his cock and Victor’s hand fell momentarily away from Sherlock’s own cock.

“Victor,” he gasped, unsure how he was speaking through his disillusion.

“Yes, darling?” he asked, voice equally injected with distant focus.

He panted, body warming to impossible temperatures. “I’m close. I’m so close, I can’t-”

“You lovely man,” he purred in his ear, placing feather-light kisses along his neck, his shoulder blades, his back. “You are brilliant, you are beautiful, you are everything I could ever want.”

“Oh, God,” Sherlock moaned, his entire soul elevating and shaking, certain he would crumble apart if Victor weren’t holding him together.

“You look gorgeous like this, you feel so fucking good on top of me like this,” he continued, words coming out faster to the rhythm of his hand stroking Sherlock’s cock and Sherlock’s own riding of his cock.

His whole body was tensing and-

“I love you.”

He was wild with wanting to continue yet craving the release-

“Marrying you was the single greatest decision-”

God, he couldn’t stop it-

“And day”

The pressure inside him was at its limits, a fire in his veins positively singing for relief-

“Of my life.”

He came voraciously, every molecule in his body tingling and his blood rushing loudly through his body. It was a gunshot, sharp and violent as it ricocheted around the inside of his body. Through his cries of pleasure, he heard similar cries from behind him and, nearly instantly, he felt Victor’s hips jerked instinctively beneath him. His hand twitched on Sherlock’s cock as his cum filled Sherlock’s arse. The warm liquid felt wonderful within him, dripping down as Victor trust through his orgasm and Sherlock’s own cum spilt over Victor’s hand.

They moved in less coordinated jerks until they were both spent, orgasms having wracked their bodies to exhaustion.

When the room came back into focus, at last, Sherlock rose with shaking legs off of Victor’s cock, feeling cum drip slowly out of him. Victor had collapsed back, arms above his head and eyes fluttering close from the intensity of it all. Sherlock couldn’t bear to go anywhere and simply collapsed onto the bed beside him.

Spent, they both wrapped lazy arms around one another, Sherlock resting his head in the nook of his shoulder, their sweaty bodies slick against one another.

All that mattered, all that would ever matter, was Victor.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you,” Victor breathed in response, placing one exhausted kiss upon Sherlock’s temple.

Sherlock’s eyes fell shut and his breathing slowed, eventually falling to the same slow rate as his husband’s breathing in unison as they slept, peaceful and unbothered.

It wasn’t until they both awoke, five hours later, that the perfect illusion was shattered and they remembered with sobering clarity: Victor was heading to war.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this one-shot because I have always been pure Johnlock trash but I accidentally created a second OTP when I wrote Welcome Home. I made Victor and Sherlock far too perfect and then I was sad because I wanted to write more Viclock but Victor has already passed away by the time Welcome Home starts. OOPS!  
> Not to make this a sad piece, but it should be noted that in this AU, this is the last time Sherlock and Victor ever had sex. Unfortunately, Victor dies in battle. That fact was actually my source of inspiration: I was considering how hot their last time together must have been.
> 
> If you enjoyed this one-shot, please consider reading [Welcome Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17444141), the AU this is based on. It is primarily Johnlock but delves into his past relationship with Victor.
> 
> PSA that Vaseline should be avoided as lube nowadays for various reasons. However, at the time, Vaseline was the most readily available lube.  
> (Also this is my first go at such explicit smut so please go easy on me).
> 
> Find me on Tumblr, if you fancy it:  
> [itsalwaysyou-jw](https://itsalwaysyou-jw.tumblr.com/)  
> OR on Dreamwidth:  
> [itsalwaysyou_jw](https://itsalwaysyou-jw.dreamwidth.org/)


End file.
